


Rooftop Romance

by goodbyelover



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Traits, Catboy Lee Felix (Stray Kids), Detective Bang Chan, Detectives, Hybrids, Light-Hearted, M/M, Teasing, be gay do crimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29928438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodbyelover/pseuds/goodbyelover
Summary: Humming softly, Chan rifles through the report, glancing at the now familiar photograph of the Governor's mansion, a normally elegant building that was made absurd by the giant, jagged splashes of bright pastel paint that spelled out ‘WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID’ across the front windows.The words are surrounded by hearts and stars and smiley faces and the two o’s in the lettering have been given whiskers and a little cat nose.(Or: Chan is a detective, chasing a troublemaker across the city.)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Comments: 7
Kudos: 92





	Rooftop Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [betheproof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/betheproof/gifts).



> Happiest birthday wishes, Lina! Thank you for being an absolutely wonderful friend and for allowing me to just yowl in your DMs like an unhinged gremlin. I hope you have the best day and the best year ❤️
> 
> Big thanks to @maricolous for doing a beta ❤️

There’s a soft knock at the door to Chan’s office and then it swings open, Jeongin sticking his head through the gap and peering at his boss with trepidation. “Hey, I finished following up on some leads and I figured I’d check in,” he says, the corners of his lips downturned just slightly.

“Mmmm, why the long face? I take it you didn’t crack the case,” Chan says, softening his words with a smile as he closes his laptop, gesturing for Jeongin to take a seat. The distraction is welcome, as Chan’s been having to field emails from the city since he got back from lunch and while important, it’s tedious enough that he can feel the strain in the corners of his eyes.

Jeongin sidles into Chan’s office to sink into one of the available chairs, a sheaf of papers in his hand – reports destined for the filing cabinets in the archive, per regulation, in duplicate, stamped in blood, with the sacrifice of three virgins. 

“Dead ends everywhere,” Jeongin admits, handing over a copy, and he sounds genuinely disappointed. “The paint was stolen and I tracked down the store but there’s no footage that clearly shows when it was stolen. All the DNA samples found belong to the Governor's daughter or his pet corgi, and canvassing the area tells us that nobody saw anything. It was a quiet night.”

Humming softly, Chan rifles through the report, glancing at the now familiar photograph of the Governor's mansion, a normally elegant building that was made absurd by the giant, jagged splashes of bright pastel paint that spelled out ‘WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID’ across the front windows.

The words are surrounded by hearts and stars and smiley faces and the two o’s in the lettering have been given whiskers and a little cat nose.

“Sorry,” Jeongin says, grimacing. He looks younger than he actually is, fidgeting at the sleeves of his button-up as if he’s expecting Chan to scold him. “I was really hoping I’d have something more to give you.”

Chan looks up from the report and gives Jeongin a shake of his head and a warm smile. “No need to be so grim,” he assures. Jeongin is still pretty new to their department, barely out of his internship, and it means that he still approaches everything with an earnest belief that hard work always yields results. “Nobody’s expecting you to magically uncover whoever’s been doing this.”

And Chan means it – the Governor's mansion is the fifth in a string of targeted vandalizations, starting with city hall and popping up across the city in the space of a few weeks. The message is always the same and accompanied by the same whimsical imagery and, most relevant to Chan, completely untraceable. It’s an incredible amount of effort for such a petty crime, but Chan’s impressed nonetheless. Lots of fingers are being pointed, the motif is clear enough, but not a single shred of proof has been left behind.

Jeongin doesn’t look like he totally buys it, but his expression eases, answering questions as Chan reads through the rest of the report. He’s clearly been thorough, knows the contents to exacting detail, and Chan feels a thrum of pride. It’s a collection of dead ends, but Jeongin put in the work needed anyway.

“You did a really good job,” Chan says, finally setting the report aside and smiling more broadly. “Have you covered all this with Seungmin?”

“Ah,” Jeongin shakes his head quickly. “No, Yoorim said you were in so I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I’ll do it,” Chan says, pushing away from the desk. It’s a thinly veiled attempt to escape more emails and from the look Jeongin gives him, it’s not very convincing, but Chan doesn’t understand how being _head detective_ requires so many corporate emails and besides… he needs to stretch his legs. Ergonomics and all that.

He bids Jeongin farewell and heads down the hallway into the main office space, an open sprawl of desks, each decorated to suit its owner. Jisung’s desk is cluttered but cute, there’s an impressive amount of figurines lining Changbin’s monitors, and Minho has a veritable snack hoard hidden in his filing cabinet.

Seungmin is in the far corner, his desk kept neat with not a single cord out of place, though it still carries some personal touches – the puppy plug protector, the signed baseball, the photo of Seungmin’s parents from their silver anniversary. It makes Chan grin, even as he plops himself into Jisung’s slightly squeaky computer chair and rolls closer just to see Seungmin’s nostrils flare because he knows Chan’s trying to wind him up.

“Dead ends,” Seungmin says, swiveling to face Chan, mouth twitching even as he tries to look down his nose at his boss. “There’s nothing to find because there hasn’t been anything to find for the past four weeks.”

Chan shrugs, handing Jeongin’s findings over. “I guess I can just leave you to it.”

Seungmin takes the papers, glancing down at them before he sighs, the annoyance melting away to something more resigned. “It just seems like a lot of resources for some dumb graffiti,” he says, a segue into a conversation he and Chan have been having in circles. “Sure, they’re all government buildings, but so what? Yoorim’s been making calls all day, Jeongin is searching for _spray paint_ , Jisung has like five interns scrubbing through cctv footage, and why? Because some dumbass highschooler thinks they’re Banksy?” 

“I don’t think it’s a kid,” Chan points out. Their inability to find even a speck of actual evidence spoke to that.

“You know what I mean,” Seungmin says with a dismissive wave. “Some felid doesn’t like the Governor, but it seems like we’re wasting our time here when there’s actual crime not even passing by our desks.”

And they really have had this conversation so many times, because Chan just spreads his hands, palms up. “I don’t disagree with you,” he says, softer. Joking aside, Chan understands the frustration of running into wall after wall after wall when they could be devoting their resources somewhere else. They _should_ be focusing on more pressing matters, but the Governor and city officials were embarrassed, scrambling for solutions, and Chan’s team has been caught up in damage control. “But this is out of my hands.”

Seungmin sighs again, slumping back in his chair. Between them, the pinks and blues of the paint mocks them with their childish brightness. “I know, I know, it’s just… a hard pill to swallow.” 

Chan reaches out, patting Seungmin on the knee, fingers squeezing gently. “Why don’t you head home early today?” he suggests. “Get some fresh air. Jisung can wrap up when he’s back.”

Seungmin looks like he wants to refuse, but then he glances down at the report again. With a groan, he flips it over so he doesn't have to see the photo that’s been haunting them anymore. “You’re probably right,” he says, sliding the report under his keyboard. “Thanks, Chan.”

“Of course,” Chan says, because _of course_. He hates seeing his team’s mounting frustration and while he can’t go against the higher ups, he can handle the little things. “Now get out of here.”

As Seungmin packs his things up, Chan stops by Yoorim’s desk to check in with her. 

“This sucks,” she sighs, her tabby ears pinning down. “Phone calls are the _worst_.”

“I’ll have Changbin take over tomorrow,” Chan promises her. Yoorim is used to being out and about, but they’ve decided it’s better for her to stay in the office for the time being, even if that means she’s going stir-crazy. “Or Jisung. Think you can handle the interns?”

She considers this before grinning, her sharpened canines showing against the sheen of her lip gloss. “Absolutely.” 

“Consider it done,” Chan says, before finally heading back to his office.

Chan’s office isn’t fancy – this office was built decades ago and made to be practical, if a bit bulky, with clunky metal door frames and vents. Still, efforts had been made to modernize it, clean it up a little, and that had meant swapping the furniture out for something more modern and sleek, putting a fake plant in the corner, and adding curtains to the two large windows that faced outward.

Curtains that are currently fluttering with the breeze.

Chan pauses in the doorway, eyes narrowing. The windows were closed when he left the office with Jeongin because the windows are _always_ closed – even being on the third floor of the building doesn’t mean Chan’s careless.

As he carefully steps into the room, something on his desk catches his eye. It’s Jeongin’s report, the one he’d dropped next to his laptop before leaving.

Now it sports a set of pastel blue whiskers, with a little pink nose drawn between them. 

Chan strides to the window that’s open, pushing the curtains aside to stare outside. This window faces the alleyway that cuts between their building and the bookstore next door. There isn’t much to the alley, just a wall of bricks and the two dumpsters pushed against the wall. It’s unremarkable until Chan spots it just at the mouth of the alley, right next to the gate closing the space off from the sidewalk, another set of whiskers with a little pink nose.

Sliding the window shut, Chan slides the lock back into place before turning to his desk. He makes quick work of neatening it, shoving the report and his laptop into a drawer and locking it as well.

There’s a moment where he hesitates, reaching for his jacket. There’s a number of protocols he should follow. Alarms to ring, reports to file, the whole nine yards.

But…

He picks up his jacket, sliding it on before grabbing his phone and keys and heading out of his office. When he gets back to the floor, only Yoorim is still there.

“I’m heading out,” he tells her. “If anyone really needs me, tell them to give me a call.”

“You got it, boss,” she says, flicking her two fingers to her forehead in a salute. 

Circling to the alleyway, Chan gets a closer look at the drawing. It’s powdery and when he swipes his finger at the edge, he realizes it’s chalk – something that will wash away with the rain, but easily visible until then.

He turns, craning his head around to see if he can spot anything else, glancing from the bookstore beside him to the bank across the street.

 _There_. Splashed on a corner of the bus stop in front of the bookstore, a pair of blue whiskers, a little pink nose.

The chase is on.

Chan follows the drawings out of his sector of the city and eastward, keeping on foot because they’re hard to spot if he doesn’t take the time to comb block by block. They’re slapped whimsically in little nooks and crannies, places that most pedestrians wouldn’t even think to look, but Chan catches them.

After heading east for nearly thirty minutes, he hits an arched walkway and the architecture changes dramatically. The hyper-urbanized downtown sprawl gives way to something that can only be described as a dense forest of buildings. There’s nothing as grand as a skyscraper, only a few buildings are more than three stories tall, but what makes it so distinctive is that the streets narrow to spindly one way roads barely able to fit a single car, and instead of a sidewalk, there’s a network of platforms and walkways built from building to building, giving way to a bustling rooftop scene.

A car approaches and Chan skirts out of the way, sidling to the nearest set of steps leading to a small platform set between two buildings. A set of whiskers peeks at him from one of the metal girders holding the whole thing up and as Chan steps up, he’s greeted by baskets upon baskets of flowers and a little wrinkly grandmother sitting between them all.

“Ah, you’re back,” she coos, delighted, and she’s old enough that her tail doesn’t wave wildly anymore, but she’s clearly pleased to see him. “The handsome one.”

“Hello to you too,” Chan greets, stepping closer to examine her wares for the day. He doesn’t want to dwell for too long, but he’s fond of her little flower booth and always buys a dozen when he’s in the area.

“What would you like?” she asks, watching him with interest.

Chan cocks his head to the side. “I think I need your help,” he says, not falling to her bait. The first time he’d tried to buy a dozen roses from her, she’d looked so very disappointed and while she hadn’t scolded him, she had strongly directed him towards her favorite chrysanthemums.

“I have tulips today,” she says, gesturing to the basket nearest to her. A whole rainbow is tucked inside, ranging from sunshine yellows to delicate pinks.

“How do you feel about the red ones?”

She considers this, her ears twitching as she thinks. “I think the red ones are loveliest,” she says, beginning to pluck out her choice blossoms, wrapping them up in a bouquet of butcher’s paper and twine before handing them over.

After bidding her good evening, Chan tucks the bouquet in his elbow and steps up to the next level, a whole new world unfolding before him as he reaches the rooftops.

The east side is lively now that the day is ending. The rooftop bars are beginning to open, soft music blaring from vintage jukeboxes or lava lamp speakers as bartenders slide from one customer to the next. Mini cafes and small arcades tucked into corners serve younger patrons, giving the scene a soft, bubbling chaos, and while Chan isn’t the only human around, he is still in the minority.

Because the east side isn’t a human neighborhood, it’s a felid one. As Chan moves along from rooftop to rooftop, he brushes past numerous tails, sleek black furred ones, thick fluffy orange ones, and a whole host of others. There are ears perked forward or twitching happily and, more rarely, pinned down. Occasionally there are glittering eyes glance his way, slitted pupils settling on him before moving on to something else.

But eventually, the crowds thin, the noise quieting to soft murmurs as the buildings become more residential. Chan is still following the tiny pastel drawings, which are still recognizable but have started to smear and become more sloppily drawn.

And then the drawings stop when Chan has to climb up one more level to the rooftop of a church. He’s greeted with a small ocean of glittering candles surrounding a blanket and a picnic basket, a bucket of champagne sat right next to it.

“Detective,” a honey-rich voice calls out. “What brings you here? Seems like you’re a long way from home.”

Chan turns towards the small bell tower, rising above him. Perched on the ledge of the tower is a young felid, with a thick cream tail lashing behind him as he leans down to watch Chan, cream ears perked forward and eyes glimmering in the warm glow of candlelight, his pupils slitted with contentment. He’s dressed in a soft, oversized sweater, the sleeves so long that they nearly swallow his hands in appropriately adorable cat paws.

He’s so beautiful that Chan’s heart stalls out in his chest and then restarts with a wild, jarring thud.

“I’m... “ Chan starts, clearing his throat, trying to will away the flush creeping up his very human ears as he sets the tulips down on the railing. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Oh?” the felid asks, tilting his head to the side, his cute little ears twitching with consideration. “A criminal, perhaps?” 

“You could say that,” Chan says, regaining his composure. “Though, I don’t know, I think they’re probably just some troublemaker.”

The felid flicks his fingers dismissively. “I think they must be far more than that if you followed them all the way here, no?” he questions, before sliding off the ledge. As he gracefully drops to his feet, something is knocked off the ledge to land next to him. 

It’s chalk, a piece of blue and pink each.

Chan looks to the chalk and then looks to the young felid and then, deliberately, cocks an eyebrow. 

“That’s sloppy of you, Felix,” he finally says. 

Felix juts his lower lip out sulkily and then he thrusts his arms forward, shaking back the sleeves of his sweater to reveal the thin slant of his wrists. “You caught me,” he says, over-exaggerated, head thrown back in defiance, a little rebel kitten. “Take me away, daddy.”

It’s too much for Chan and he bursts out laughing, even as he reaches out to take Felix’s hand to tug him closer, wrapping him up in his arms. Felix falls into him easily, cuddling into his chest with eager abandon. A soft vibration runs through Chan as Felix begins genuinely purring and tucks his head on Chan’s shoulder – a favorite resting place, Felix has said in the past, because it’s so broad.

“What were you thinking, breaking into my office like that?” Chan scolds, though he struggles to really put the bite in it because it’s Felix, it’s _Felix_ , and Chan’s heart is warm. “What if someone had seen?”

Felix scoffs, even as he lazily nuzzles into Chan’s neck. “Nobody saw me,” he says, and it’s not cocky, it’s just assured. “I know your boys can’t find me.”

Which they _can’t_. Felix is right – Chan isn’t hindering the investigations, it’s just that Felix is genuinely so fucking hard to catch that they haven’t made any ground on that front.

(And Chan hopes that continues as long as Felix continues with his defacing spree, because he’s not entirely sure what he’ll do if Felix gets caught. He and Felix have both purposefully avoided that conversation.)

“Still,” Chan says, but it’s a weak rebuttal and Felix knows it, his purring just growing louder. 

“I missed you, babe,” Felix whispers, pressing a kiss to Chan’s jawline, “I missed you so much,” 

“I missed you too,” Chan sighs, letting Felix envelop him in affection. “I’m sorry I can’t make it over here more often.”

It’s a situation they’ve been dancing around for months. Chan doesn’t ask questions, Felix doesn’t give answers, and they steal whatever time they can inbetween. It sounds tragic, but mostly it just makes Chan lovelorn. He _wants_ to keep Felix by his side, to show him off, to cherish him completely, and it kills him that he cannot have that.

But it’s been four weeks since Chan's very own team started chasing Felix and so he toes the line, just a little bit. “Will you ever tell me?” he asks, nuzzling his cheek into Felix’s hair, one of Felix’s soft ears fluttering against Chan’s lips. “What he did?”

Felix laughs softly, gently, and shakes his head. “It’s not what you think,” he promises quietly, hand resting on Chan’s heart and pressing gently, a weight of honesty. “When he tells everyone himself, you’ll understand.”

And it’s not the answer Chan wants, but it’s the one he’ll take – he can meet Felix in the middle.

“This is really pretty,” he says, letting it go for now. Maybe later, when they’re tucked away in Felix’s apartment, hiding under the covers, maybe he’ll try again, but for now, he turns to look at the candles and the picnic and the champagne. For now, he’ll appreciate the date that Felix set up just for the two of them.

“It _better_ ,” Felix says, leaning in to steal a kiss. It’s a fleeting, sweet little thing, and Chan melts into the easy affection of it all, chasing after Felix’s mouth when he pulls away. “It took me twenty minutes to light all those candles.”

“Hold still,” Chan complains distractedly, even as Felix laughs, fangs flashing, and playfully smacks his chest. 

“No.”

“ _Yes_.” 

“Make me,” Felix challenges as he starts to squirrel out of Chan’s grasp, but Chan’s quick to wrap his arms around Felix in a bearhug, squeezing when Felix starts squirming and giggling. It turns into an aborted wrestling match, ending almost as soon as it starts when Chan gets his fingers under Felix’s sweater and starts tickling him.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Felix wheezes, his tail flying everywhere. “I yield!” 

His surrender is satisfying and so Chan winds them back down, gently tucking Felix back against his chest, pressing kisses across Felix’s cheeks and letting the high tension slowly ease to something slower, gentler.

Felix settles back down easily enough, basking in Chan’s attentions, arms winding around Chan’s waist. “Love you,” he sighs out.

Chan’s heart does a soft little stutter, he just can’t help it. “Love you too,” he whispers between kisses, which gets Felix purring again.

They stay there for a time, just holding each other, just luxuriating in chance to touch and be touched, to be wrapped up in adoration while adoring. As Chan revels in the sensation, Felix begins to rock side to side.

“Dance with me?” Felix asks, words muffled against Chan’s jacket.

“Of course,” Chan agrees easily. He’s hardly a dancer – not clumsy or terrible, just inexperienced. It doesn’t deter Felix, as he shifts them around until their fingers are laced together and Chan’s other arm is tucked around Felix’s shoulder. They have to pause for Felix to jumble for his phone in his back pocket, the soft melody of a piano filling the air, though Felix nearly drops his phone while trying to put it away.

“Don’t laugh,” Felix pouts, ears drooping.

“I’m not laughing,” Chan says as he kisses that pout away, achingly fond of this beautiful, beautiful creature who chose him of all people. “It’s a good song.”

When they dance, it’s slow and gentle; they really don’t do much more than sway back and forth while stealing kisses, but it’s warm and beautiful and everything Chan has ever wanted.

Later, they’ll settle down with champagne and dinner, and Felix will probably pretend to feed Chan before smearing sauce on his cheek and licking it away with his pretty little tongue, and Chan will actually just feed Felix properly because he’s a fool, an absolute besotted fool.

Even later, they’ll troop down to Felix’s apartment, crawl into bed, and fall asleep, Felix purring where he’s curled up on Chan’s chest until he’s dropped away to a deep sleep.

And even later, Chan will return to his job, back to trying to hunt Felix down while pretending he doesn’t know they’re trying to hunt Felix down.

But for now, in this moonlight and magic, he has Felix in his arms, and he does not want to be anywhere else.

**Author's Note:**

> We had a really big writer's block but I think we're back in business! :D/


End file.
